‘You know when you don’t notice something’s missing until you realise it’s not there?’
There’s a long pause while Gen takes in what I’ve just said.
‘Right,’ she says, slowly. ‘You’re going to have to run that by me again.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, tucking my phone between chin and shoulder as I rip open the post that’s addressed to me. Junk mail, junk mail, credit card bill … ‘I mean—’ I pause for a second, making sure there’s nobody else home, but the house is silent, and there’s none of the usual detritus in the hall that tells me my housemates are back from work ‘—I think something’s going on with Emma and Alex.’
There’s a moment where Gen processes what I’ve just said. ‘What, like they’ve been secretly shagging for six months?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Not just that, I mean like there’s a bit of a weird atmosphere. I think maybe he’s already broken things off with her. He walked into the kitchen the other day and she walked out.’
‘Maybe she’d finished in there and he was just walking in?’ Gen asked.
‘No, it’s more than that. Maybe she’s really upset with him, even though he said it was her idea for them to be casual.’
I shove the letters in the recycling bin. Then I bend over and fish out the credit card bill. Tempting as it would be to leave it there, I don’t think it would do my credit rating any good.
‘And the thing is – apart from that I haven’t seen Emma around for ages.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Gen. ‘But you don’t see thingy – what’s his name? The chef guy much either. And you don’t think there’s something going on with him.’
‘He works split shifts. It’s different.’
‘You’re very interested in what’s going on with Alex for someone who’s not interested in what’s going on with Alex,’ she says, in that very familiar, arch, Gen-like tone.
‘I am not. I just happen to work in publishing, so I’m particularly interested in stories.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ she says, and I can picture her smiling.
There’s a clatter of keys in the lock and I look up. It’s Becky, home uncharacteristically early from work.
‘Better go,’ I say to Gen. ‘I’ll message you later, okay?’
‘Don’t forget. I want updates on this non-existent drama.’
Moments later, with a dramatic sigh, Becky drops her bags on the floor and collapses on the stairs. ‘God I’m so tired,’ she says as she lays her head down for a second. ‘There’s no way I can make it up two flights. I’m just going to have to sleep here – ugh.’
‘What is it?’ I ask.
She lifts her head up again, making a disgusted face. ‘We really need to sort out some sort of cleaning rota. These stairs are covered in fluff and random stuff.’
‘I’ll hoover them in a bit. Coffee?’ I point to the kitchen. ‘D’you want me to put the kettle on?’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m trying to give up caffeine.’
‘Are you insane? You work about twenty-three hours a day. You can’t survive without caffeine.’
‘How’s the celery juice looking?’
‘Beyond disgusting. I’ll make you a peppermint tea.’ I leave her lying there looking like a deflated jellyfish on the bottom stair and head into the kitchen to boil the kettle. The fridge absolutely honks. I grab the milk, close the door quickly, and make my coffee and pour water over Becky’s expensive-looking peppermint tea bag.
‘There’s something dying in the fridge,’ I say, going back to the hall and handing her a mug. She sniffs it and takes a huge sip, making ecstatic noises.
‘It’s Rob.’
‘In the fridge?’
‘No, it’s Rob’s stuff. He was given some enormously posh French cheeses from a salesman, and he’s brought them home because – oh, something complicated. Anyway, they’re in the fridge. He said he was bringing home some artisan bread and stuff and we could have it for dinner, if anyone was around.’
My stomach rumbles at the thought, and it would be nice to get to know Rob better. Six months into our lease and Rob’s still a bit of a mystery. We sort of adjusted to him being here but not here pretty early on. When the rest of us are hanging out in the evenings, shovelling in Ben and Jerry’s and watching Netflix movies, he’s out doing chef things until midnight, by which time we’re usually staggering off to bed. He lies on the sofa reading the sports pages (he’s a massive football fan) and unwinding until about two a.m. Then when we get up, he’s fast asleep downstairs in the cellar. It’s a bit like living with a Hobbit, only one who’s really good at cooking and occasionally brings home leftovers to die for.
And really stinking cheese.
I take a sip of my coffee, and—
‘Ugh.’ I look down at my mug realising I’ve handed Becky my coffee and I’ve got her peppermint and fennel stuff. It tastes like someone dipped a pair of used socks in muddy water.
‘I wondered when you’d notice,’ Becky says, holding the mug tightly in both hands.
‘I’ve got your tea.’
‘And I—’ she takes another sip, eyes closed in bliss, a beatific smile on her face ‘—have your delicious, sleep-depriving, adrenal whatsit-damaging, blood-pressure-raising coffee.’
I reach across, laughing. She’s not letting go of that mug any time soon.
‘Gerroff,’ growls Becky. ‘This is mine.’
I make another cup, and we flop on the sofas in the sitting room. We’d made all sorts of plans to sort the place out when we all first moved in, but somehow none of us had done anything. It always felt a bit like sitting in your grandma’s sitting room as a result. I notice that the potted plant on the windowsill is looking like it’s in danger of dying of thirst.
‘How’s work? You must be feeling quite settled in now?’ Becky asks as she flexes her foot against the arm of the sofa, leaning her head backwards. Something gives an alarming crack. ‘God, I’m falling to pieces.’
‘Was that you?’ I say, alarmed. ‘I thought it was the furniture.’
‘No, definitely me. That’s why I’m trying to do this healthy eating thing. This job is bloody exhausting. I’m not surprised Alex gave it up for an easy life working as a nurse.’
We both laugh.
‘So go on then, spill the beans. Any exciting gossip from the glamorous world of publishing? I was expecting a lot more invites to posh book launches and meeting famous people.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ I say.
‘Not enjoying it?’
‘Oh, I am. I really like it. I mean it’s way more pressurised than I expected – I think I was imagining us all drifting about reading books and discussing literature, and it’s not like that at all, but – yeah.’ I nod. ‘I feel like I’ve found my feet a bit. It helps that a couple of new people have started, so I’m not the new girl any more. And Jav’s lovely.’
‘You should invite her round sometime. We could have a house party. A housewarming. My God, why haven’t we had a proper housewarming?’ Becky says.
‘Because we’re only ever all in the same place at once about twice a month, and that’s usually a Saturday lunchtime?’
‘Oh. Yeah. That.’ Becky flips through the pages of one of Emma’s magazines. She buys them all – Vogue, Marie Claire, Tatler …
‘Look, there’s a launch for Nigella Lawson’s latest book. Why aren’t you going to stuff like that?’
‘Because I work for a tiny publisher who mostly does romance, and we don’t do stuff like that.’
‘You should. You’d get loads of publicity. And I’d get to meet—’ she peers at the photographs on the social pages of Tatler ‘—Robert Pattinson. D’you think he sparkles in real life?’
‘I do not. And your sad Twilight addiction needs to be addressed. I saw you’d been watching the whole series again on Netflix.’
‘It’s comfort watching. I’m mega stressed with work. There’s a load of exams coming up.’
‘More exams? I thought you were finished with all that.’
‘No, these are different exams. Professional development stuff. It’s never-ending.’
‘Weird to think of Alex doing all that,’ I say, casually.
Becky curls her feet up underneath her. ‘Alex? He was really good. Got one of the best degrees in our year, I think. Everyone’s still stunned he gave it up.’
‘He seems to really like nursing though,’ I say, and I wonder how he’s getting on with his new placement. He’s moved on to a new one now, working in a retirement home on Primrose Hill.
‘You know he’d be getting married this weekend?’
‘Oh of course,’ I say, remembering Alex mentioning it the other week, but it hadn’t really sunk in.
She reaches across to the coffee table and takes one of the chocolates that Rob left there last night with a Post-it Note saying ‘help yourself’. She indicates the box with her head. ‘Want one?’
‘No thanks,’ I say, trying to imagine scruffy, laid-back Alex buttoned up in a suit and tie, watching the mythical Alice walk up the aisle towards him. ‘What was she like?’ I ask.
‘Alice?’ Becky chews for a moment, making exaggerated faces, then swallows and carries on. ‘Sorry, toffee stuck in teeth. She was very nice. Bit posh, in that Home Counties long swishy hair way. Mummy and Daddy had two Labradors and she probably went to Pony Club.’
‘Really? I can’t imagine Alex with someone like that. He seems way too down to earth.’
‘Yeah, but she wasn’t stuck up. I mean she was nice. Just – well, I think that she’d pretty much planned out their future, and I don’t think Alex buggering off to train as a nurse and earn approximately a quarter of what he was on as a corporate lawyer was on her wall planner.’
‘Whatever happened to for richer, for poorer?’ I ask.
Becky gives a snort of laughter. ‘In London? Are you joking?’
I think about the amount of money she’d be getting if she rented this place out, or sold it.
‘You’re the one sitting on a gold mine,’ I point out. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got a string of handsome young gold-diggers beating a path to your door.’
‘Nobody knows I own it, that’s why,’ she says.
‘I’ve had so many people asking how I can afford to live in Notting Hill.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ She laughs. ‘What do you tell them?’
‘I say I’m staying with a family member.’
‘Me too.’
‘How’s your mum?’ I ask. ‘Haven’t heard anything about her for ages.’
‘Oh, she’s completely off-grid now. They’ve rigged up some machine on the island to make electricity by cycling on an exercise bike.’
‘Talking of which,’ I say, ‘I must give you my share of the bill.’
‘Yeah, we’ll sort it out at the weekend,’ Becky says. ‘I was thinking – Alex is off this Saturday, which would have been the big day. D’you fancy coming with me and we’ll take him out? Take his mind off things a bit? Emma’s away this weekend and I think Rob’s working, so it’d just be the three of us.’
My heart gives a little skip of happiness at the thought of spending the day with him, which is slightly pathetic. I really need to get a grip.
‘I think that’s a brilliant idea.’